yourimpactmatters

“You Give and God Gives Back”

by

From the archives of Project 365

“America is different from Peru. Everything is easier, and there is opportunity for those who work for it, and remember to vote!”

I’ve held a little secret regarding the story of Monica and Matthew, that being as I met with them, we were not alone. As in all interviews, I’ve always waited to take photos last. Something that only takes a few minutes in keeping the pictures pure and organic. So it was as Monica, Matthew, and I were taking photos, an unknown face popped into frame. A happy, inquisitive lady, who sporting an Eat, Laugh, Love apron, was drawn to us by the repetitive bursts from my camera’s flash.

With light-hearted humor, she introduced herself, “I’m ready for my photo! ”We all laughed and were instantly smitten by her wit and openness to approach us. Her English was broken and my Spanish terrible, but we managed to unite in a few shared perspectives. She was delightful and not wanting to pass on the opportunity to better know her, and feeling crunched on time with my family sitting in the car, I asked if she would be open to being interviewed at a later date.

Her name is Betty, and I found out she was a demonstrator, and only at Ralph’s one more day that week, specifically, the following evening between 1 pm and 7 pm. We agreed to meet up and I promised to bring a translator to help us with our communication.

The next day came, 7 pm. The air was cold and very wet from a full day of rainfall. Lucky for us, Mother Nature had given us a break in the deluge, and knowing that I needed to photograph Betty outside of her workplace, I felt quite fortunate for the gift.

_L2R3829By my side was my good friend and interpreter, Dan, and with his Spanish fluent, he had happily enlisted to partner with me for the interview.

Celebrating her sixteenth year as a citizen of the United States, Betty had no hesitation in expressing her gratitude for what America had allowed her. After informing us of her relocation to America from Peru, Betty’s home country she gave thanks, “Life is good and I’m blessed;” a warm conversation starter on a cold rainy night. The weather was tiring, none of us were clock watching. But still, I could tell we needed to keep our interview short in respect to our families. A fair call seeing that it was Friday and time for all of us to be home.

I asked only one question and Betty’s wisdom exploded. I did my best to keep up, and for certain, if Dan were not with us, we would have been sunk. Dan was a man on fire, and with minimal breaks, translated words the blasted out of Betty too fast to write–another reminder to never forget my recorder again.

Betty was one hard-working woman who had great pride in her ability to work and provide. A wife and mother of four children and four grandchildren, her outlook was joyous, outgoing, and positive. Quickly I found that I had met yet another person who put friends, family, and others before themself.

“I am a good friend,” she told me, and after hearing experience after experience of what she had done for others, I wanted to be her friend too. Betty was the kind of person you could rely on. We should all be friends like her.

There we were, standing behind her husband’s truck, in the parking lot taking pictures. But isolated we were not as person after person walked by, each commenting to Betty. “Hi, Betty! Looking Good! Employee of the month!” Gestures that further cemented the person she is, and there was no doubt the community knew and appreciated her.

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“Be a good person. Be united and nice with each other without judgment and help each other. You give and God gives back,” her exact words.

I started to fully understand who Betty was and felt privileged to be in her presence.

“If you are not moving forward, you are moving backward, ”Betty advised. “Find a job, make yourself useful. A trade, a passion, whatever it is, just move forward,” further stating, “this is for everybody, but also specific to the Latino community.” A very brave statement that put her on the edge of being criticized, but in it, I could see where her heart was. Her intent was not to be critical but to extend a call to action to her community. “America is different from Peru. Everything is easier, and there is opportunity for those who work for it, and remember to vote!” She concluded.

Betty, keep up the good work, and thanks for the lessons on being good!

“That Is Them!”

by

From the archives of Project 365

“Hate doesn’t take you anywhere.”

7:30 pm, November 4, 2011: I was with my family and starting to sweat a little. I thought, “here comes a late-nighter” as I tried to find a new friend to interview. We’d been to Home Depot, Target, and Ralph’s grocery store, followed by a bit of drive-by wandering of a few other local retail businesses, and even after attempting to force a few conversations, not a person was interested.

Submitting to the evening, I readied these words for my wife, “Can you and Colette get to sleep without me tonight, I’m going to have to go on a drive.” They were behind me, yet still, they worried I was going to get myself killed by walking into a stupid situation on my own. The Hawaii hostel experience had become a Radstone household legend and fuel for continued “Richard, watch you’re back!” reminders from wife and daughter. Especially when I hit the streets of night on my own.

So there I was, cruising parking lots as I submitted to my fate. A long night of driving from place to place, I accepted two things that seemed destined to come: Zero sleep and the watch you’re back council.

So I just drove, tired and a little disassociated, when no joking, and within seconds asking an inner prayer for help, crossing right in front of my car passed two people: Visual Effects and Motion Graphics students Matthew and Monica. The voice rang out! “That is them!”

Quickly, I drove to the top of the parking lot, doing my best not to become a stalker by chasing them down in my car. That would have been way creepy. I pulled into a parking spot at the end of a row, grabbed my camera bag, and set afoot course to where they were loading groceries into their car. They caught sight of me. I threw the interview invite and it was instantly apparent that we were all where we were supposed to be at that particular moment. At least that was my take. We’ll see if you agree as you read on.

They called each other kids, so I am taking license to do the same. Yet the words they shared were not that of children, but brave and dedicated young adults who had quite a bit of life experience, especially Matthew. At one point in the interview, Monica even diverted to him to further share his story. We’ll get to that in a second.

_L2R3774Monica was absolutely delightful. I could tell she was the catalyst of laughter between the two of them. They seemed soul matched, lead me to ask if they were significant others? With warm hugs to each other, they responded, “No, just friends.”

There were only two words necessary to fully describe Monica, “Free Spirit.” She cracked me up with her forecast of where she would be in ten years, “I’ll have no house, I’ll have no stability and will be traveling and meeting crazy people. Routine and all that crap annoy me.”

Her words of advice, “Just do it; there is nothing stopping you at all.” I asked, “Sounds like you have a lot of life experience?” I could see in her eyes that she wanted to share some of her life, and I could tell that she had a thing or two to say. But she shifted to a humbler tone and redirected the question to Matthew. There was a very warm connection between these kids that touched me, and I quickly found out why. Matthew stepped right up, “I have no problem sharing my history.”

l2r3787“I was diagnosed with  HIV one year ago.” Monica quieted and kept her eyes focused on Matthew; I could tell she admired him and was inspired by his strength and maturity. It was at that exact moment I knew why we were together: Matthew had council for us all, and his words needed to be published.

He told me of his growth in accepting this life-changing illness and of his experience with a very materialistic roommate, both issues he faced in tandem. His take away:

“Don’t regret anything, everything has a lesson.”
“Hate doesn’t take you anywhere.”
“All you can do is look at the good, that will drive you forward in life.”
“Tell the truth. You can’t live with secrets, they always catch up with you.”

Matthew was intoxicating as I noted his council. It was apparent that he knew what he was talking about and desired to help others with his words. And by the look in Monica’s eyes, I knew why they were friends. He grounded her and she pushed him. These friends were meant to be.

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We resumed our group discussion in shifting the subject back to why we met that evening, and after Matthew bore his history, we all seemed to know why.

The topic expanded to religion as Matthew expressed his interest in studying it. A three-way dialogue began and we all agreed there was much good in many religions. Our conclusion, it is about honoring one another, acceptance of a higher power, and striving for self-mastery in doing the right thing. Highlighting the worth of a soul and of its eternal progression. Heavy concepts, but the air was light and the conversation united.

Readers, I’m telling you, I don’t direct these meetings or force the topics. They just happen, and I’m convinced it’s not by chance.

Speaking of chance. I learned a thing or two about social magnetism as Matthew brought up the Gestalt theory. I was vaguely familiar with its application in design but had never really pondered its sociological and psychological applications or its theories of social attraction. Points that Matthew had studied. He posed a question, “Could it have had any influence on our meeting this evening?”

I researched it a little post my meeting with Matthew and Monica. Did not delve too deeply into its depth, only took a quick read of ten or so sources, but it was and is a very fascinating theory. Made me think about my influence on the how and why of my friendships, networks, surroundings, and even the lessons learned within Sidewalk Ghosts.

Both Matthew and Monica left me with these words. “We think this meeting is meant to be; the day has led up to it. It has been a great day and meeting up with you seems to be what we have been going towards.” All I knew is when I first saw the two of them; the voice rang in my head. “It’s them you need to talk to.”

Matthew concluded with this (and from his comments, I could tell he was very spiritual), “I put on my ??? beads today” (Matthew, forgive me, I forgot what they were called), “seems they led me here to share my message.”

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Monica, keep smiling and dreaming–Matthew, keep the faith, and kids (even though you are wiser than the aged), thanks for the inspiration!

“Really Listen”

by

From the archives of Project 365

“My kids like to talk to me, it’s an open-ended dialogue. I’ve learned to not dismiss their thoughts or try to redirect them into what I want to hear.”

For fifty-five days I had openly written about my life, my journeys, and the people I met. Months with much time away from my family, so in getting another occasion to embrace a day with my daughter, sunrise to sunset was a welcomed opportunity.

There is one more level you need to know about my family, we home school.

First off, I need to dismiss one myth: my girl is well socialized, well adjusted, and gives us all the same homework grief that all parents have come to embrace. Why do I share this? It leads to how I met the new friend featured in the story.

Every week there is a group of home school families that gather at a local park—lots of kids, lots of extra-curricular activities, and lots of parents finding time to gather together. I’ll tell you more, but first, I have to expose the truth per the socialization question of homeschooling, the kids are fine. They have all the normal interactions one might expect for youth and teens. There are insecurities, moments of triumph, the fears, the joys, the laughter, and the tears. From toddler to graduate, all the same stuff that happens in school districts from grades to deadlines to athletics, activities, and proms, they are most regular. But I will admit, there is a real socialization problem, and it’s not in reference to the kids. It’s the parents who need to meet people. For many of us spend incredible amounts of time preparing lessons, taking workshops, and being teachers as well as providers and parents. With this, it’s not abnormal that some of us are a bit twitchy, having the tendency to be found isolated with our heads buried in the I hope I can keep up with my kid’s sand trap.

Thus, I humble myself on the stand of this is who I am, and in doing so, I make a most sincere plea. Next time you see one of us homeschooling parents looking a little green around the gills, withdrawn or twitchy, can you buy us a Starbucks. It’s not that we are weird, it’s most likely that it’s just lack of sleep. But, if that does not work, RUN! There are a few crazy homeschoolers out there too. Best to avoid them. (I’m sure I’ll take a few hits for this comment).

It was a very needed day. Time to catch up on daddy/daughter time lost and a break to talk with adults outside of my professional circle—something that, being committed to Sidewalk Ghosts and managing my business affairs, was something I was hungry for.

It was 12:30sh, my daughter and a group of kids were kneeling on a community gym stage, all deeply tuned into a French class. My girl was involved, having fun and learning as I found a little time to chill.

I was not alone as the gym, filled with small cliques of parents, teens, and children, buzzed with motion. I looked around and realized that, although most of the faces were familiar to me, I really did not know many of them. My mind became engaged beyond myself as I paused away from my moment of personal relaxation. Reactivating my quest to know my fellow human I noticed a new face, and positioning myself as a self-appointed member of the welcoming committee, I reached out a hand of fellowship.

They say that water seeks its own level. I found the statement true and engaging as I met my new homeschooling friend, Lena.

Turned out that not only did we have the homeschooling link, but she and her family were also industry folk, her husband being an established lighting designer and gaffer.

We talked of business for a while and that led us into topics of family and the raising of our children. Lena had her priorities in place as she gave me a brief history of her life and of what she deemed important, “I worked for years as a dietician at,” (she unintentionally dropped a few names as to where she had worked, and I realized she was a seriously educated and experienced professional) “but after my first son was born I knew what I needed to do.”

She promptly left her career and dedicated her life to full-time motherhood.

When I first asked her for an interview, she was unsure. “I’m not that interesting, compared to some of the other people you have interviewed. ”An opinion that was so distant from the truth. This project is about everybody, and everybody has a message, I assured her.

Lena thought for a moment, “You don’t have a homeschooling mom, do you?” And being a homeschooling family myself, I was doubly motivated to publish her words. I do not have any homeschooling mothers, and your words matter more than you know, I assured her.

She accepted.

What words of counsel do you have for the world? I asked.

I loved her response, it was so global; a message that all parents should take heed to.

“Spend as much time with your kids as you can, it goes fast. Enjoy it while it lasts. Slow down and listen to them, not half listen, really listen.”

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I swallow hard on that comment. My life was a sprint, not complaining about it, I loved the pace. Yet I knew her statement deeply reflected my mind-set, and having a home office I was at the edge of a double-edged sword. It’s great to be close to family and home, but at times it does seduce me away from family reality. A seducer that often drives me to an attitude that I’m embarrassed to admit. There are precious and irreplaceable moments when my daughter will walk in during business hours with a simple question, and shamefully, I have to accept the reality that I half-listen.

Lena, thanks for the pointer. I have to remember it is no big deal to stop for a minute to fully focus on my child’s question. For everything always seems to work out with business and I’m sure a short break will not crumble my deadlines and goals. I challenge all of us to do the same when we can.

Lena went on, “My kids like to talk to me, it’s an open-ended dialogue. I’ve learned to not dismiss their thoughts or try to redirect them into what I want to hear.”

Now, I think I’m a good dad. My girl loves me, I love her and I do my best to be a good listener. To raise the stakes, having a female child, I’ve learned to listen a lot. Ladies, you know what I am talking about. But this dismiss thing? It goes beyond Women are from Venus and Men are from Mars stuff. We’re talking about my kid and your kid.

Again Lena’s council hit hard. Next time I’m exhausted and want to go to bed, I’m going to think twice before I redirect my daughter’s question to support my sleeping needs. It’s about her and not me at that point.

At the beginning of my talk with Lena, she said, “I’m not that interesting.”

Lena, I disagree. Your words strike deep and are meaningful. Your calling is grand. Parenthood is a most noble of acts and you are at the top of your game. Thanks for helping me with my Dad check.

Reid, knock’em dead in LV!

by

From the archives of Project 365

Wisdom, that after racing behind him for a quarter of an hour, through our small talk and witnessed in the courage he seemed to have in pursuing his dreams, I saw a story much deeper than any we could have shared in words.

My heart was broken. A post-interview experience I will soon publish in an upcoming book that addresses a set of perspectives for bettering the way we view and treat one another. So stay tuned, I’ll update you as soon as it is released. But for the purpose of this story, it’s better to set the stage in sharing onboard travel experience I had sitting next to a most charming Italian couple; beautiful dancer Giorgia and her very gracious husband, musician Giorgio. I could not have asked for better travel mates for a five-hour flight.

We talked about stories of the strangers I had met and of the lessons taught over the previous fifty-three. But as tired as we were, and in compassion to them, we passed on taking any pictures. Plus, I needed to allow them their in-flight sleep time. The right thing to do in allowing them their privacy and respect to the eight hours of flight time from their homeland; and to top that off, I had already photographed a friend of the day, Reid.

_L2R3701Reid and I ran into each other as we were scurrying to a reassigned airport gate. Sounded simple enough at first as the gate agent instructed, “It’s just around the corner, Gate C-29.” For geographical point-of-reference, Reid and I were standing at B-11.

Off we went as instructed, Just around to corner. Boy, I love airports! Around the corner? Seriously?

Well, just around the corner ended up being a distance I could only explain in terms of landing strip geometry. Specifically, Holy Hanna! It zigzagged hallways longer than the length of runway required to land a Boing 747.

Travel experience and fatigue seemed to be a perfect linking point as Reid and I matched speed in attacking a mother of all airport hikes. Myself with forty-five pounds of shoulder strapped camera backpack and Reid bearing a bag the size of himself. The guy was a rock. I thought I was a fast walker, but Reid was almost uncatchable as he began to break away from me. Fast and relentless he was and all I could do was bear down in increasing my stride to stay up. With one arm on the steering controls of an airport chair and the other holding heavy luggage in his lap, he was my saving grace as I submitted to his speed. Like a trailblazer, he was quick and agile as he navigated a path through passenger-loaded thoroughfares. Reid, I will always be grateful for the tow. You got us there on time. I owe you one!

As we raced to our reassigned departure, I invited him to be interviewed. He was willing, but due to the gate change, we were both uncertain as to if we could make it happen. And above that, we needed to settle a little business prior to boarding. Myself an anticipated phone call and Reid crunched to get stand-by arrangements worked out. But we gave it a hero’s push. Shifted our speed into overdrive, and after fifteen minutes of walk and talk, sweat dripping off my brow, we slowed at C-29.

A welcoming sight it was, and even though the sitting area was packed, the line at the counter was minimal. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Reid was highly intelligent, extroverted, and witty, so it took him about a second to scoot right up to the agent, and in no time he had his ticket in hand.

No waiting room seating was to be had. I snuggled up against an architectural column and arranged my stuff in anticipation of getting a brief moment with Reid.

The pre-boarding call rang out, yet still, we managed to find time for an extremely rushed interview and a few photos.

Here are a few details.

  • Reid had a Bachelor of Science Degree in Paleontology and was working on his Masters.
  • He was traveling to Las Vegas as an invited presenter at a leading Paleontology Convention.
  • One day he would be working as the curator of fossil exhibits at a leading museum (he expressed this to me as a goal, but somehow I already saw him in the role).

We literally grabbed five minutes to shoot a couple photos as he shared words we’ve come to know well, “Never give up!”

Wisdom, that after racing behind him for a quarter of an hour, through our small talk and witnessed in the courage he seemed to have in pursuing his dreams, I saw a story much deeper than any we could have shared in words.

Nothing could stall Reid, and I was all the better of a person for having time with him.

We stood side-by-side as we entered the aircraft, and as we separated to our seats, I smiled that have a great flight nod, all the while going through my mind, “Reid, knock’em dead in LV!”

He smiled back and disappeared into his seat.

The Snore Storm

by

From the archives of Project 365

“If I die tomorrow, my funeral will take three days, so that all of my friends can attend.”

It was the day I traveled to the interview I mentioned in the previous story. Can’t say I was comfortably en route, rather I was sitting cramped at some thirty thousand feet. Trapped in a plane with no idea of whom I would photograph. I did have a short conversation with the flight crew, but no takers. Had to give them credit for what they did in making us all comfortable, but they were not that interested in anything more. And to top things off, seated across the row from me, was the Snore Man.

Please, snorers of the world; do not be offended. Trust me, I’m in your camp. Have wailed a note or two in my R.E.M hours. But truly, this was no normal snore. It was superhuman and of epic proportions.

Let me see if I can communicate the sound in writing. A kaleidoscope of varying volume, that to this day, lives as a symphony of guttural wavelengths burned in my memory. Each escaping breath, trapped inhale, and rolling choke echoing upon me from an author who, with eyes closed, sat only three feet from my left ear. As all passengers do, I tried to tune out the noise. To stay in my zone, not looking toward the originator of such a sizable display of unconscious talent. The curiosity was too strong to overcome. Yet, a morbid want to get a visual take had sucked me in. So I peaked to the left and as soon as I did, the performance ceased. Seemed my timing was somewhat off when as my stare engaged with his, I got my first response from the man who by then I respected as an artist in his own right. An athlete of breath, a human to be acknowledged as having a gift, and as slapstick, as I’m being in setting the stage, the moment our eyes locked, I think I was as embarrassed as he. I felt my face turning a little red, but gentleman he was as he fell back to sleep as fast as he awoke.

I reclined back into my seat, and with no relief given from the airline provided earbuds, I focused my hearing on the whir of jet engines. In the end, a tactic that lessoned the full impact of the snore storm that was floating my way.

The sky got bumpy, the last approach announcement sounded. Time to stow my laptop had arrived. I made my last few keystrokes in recording the above account as a lull in the gasping sleep subsided. With each word, the final charge to shut down electronics so near, I sped up my writing in a desire to log all I could.

“Flight attendants, please secure the cabin for arrival. ”The captain’s voice came over the intercom. And as it did, I entered these last thoughts, all the while already hoping to find a stranger-now-friend en route to my hotel. Then the last slap came. Like a pinpointed and targeted ear jab it hit me with a final choking exhale, &!%!*(@!!arg-chug-chchca!!! I didn’t even know how to spell such a sound.

I arrived at the hotel, and after nine hours of travel, I had managed to let go of my snore induced jitters. At least, enough to find my new friend for the day; the happiest faces I’d seen all day, Felicia and Fred, the front desk team at the Conshohocken Hampton Inn.

From the moment I walked into the hotel their welcome to the world attitude and exceptional customer service made me want to move my family to Philadelphia. In other stories, I’ll tell you why that never happened.

We chatted for a while and, despite how tired and travel grumpy I was, I walked away with a smile on my face.

Fred, an aspiring business owner to be; told me his dream to own an arts and crafts store. And being artistic myself, I could understand his desires. We talked of product and his history as a Philly native. His advice for us all, “Never give up on your dreams, keep trying until they are a reality.” A message we’ve heard from so many in past interviewees.

What could I say about Felicia, the second of the two new friends? First off, Her energy was huge. My snapshot of her did not fully capture the excitement she had for life. It was undeniable that this lady was special.

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Felicia, a thirty-year hospitality veteran, expanded on Fred’s point of about never giving up on your dreams, saying, “If you feel inspired to do something, do it! No matter how difficult or crazy, follow it!”

“I love what I am doing; every day I get to smile at a new person.” A statement proven to me through being the recipient of her smile.

A few minutes speaking with Felicia forced me to think about the moment, and in doing so, to let go of the frustration of my interrupted flight. Her position on living, “If I had to live to this point over again, I would not change a thing.” We should all aim for this mind-set.

Without probing for answers, she continued, “My life is graceful and peaceful with not much drama. Overall it has been good to me. I love where I am.”

We conversed a little more about that point. I asked her to clarify what she meant. “I’m not talking about career or status, I’m talking about where I am mentally, physically, and spiritually.”

Felicia had lots of friends, many of whom she had met easily by just sharing her signature smile and honest “hello.” She joked, “If I die tomorrow, my funeral will take three days so that all of my friends can attend.”

As we wrap up our interview, I asked for any last thoughts. Her parting words, simple and sweet, “I like everybody!”

Felicia, Fred, thanks for the warm welcome!

What Would Jesus Do?

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From the archives of Project 365

“...have fun, but don’t live recklessly, for yourself or others. Focus on doing good, because what if it is your time and you’re not living up to your potential or doing bad things. You don’t want to go out that way. You want to be remembered for what good you did. Make your mom, dad and people proud.”

It was not the leisurely Sunday I had hoped for, the next day flying out to the East Coast for a rather life-changing interview (an account I may reveal in future essays). So once again, my family was taking a hit, and on that particular day, it was the first time I saw real stress on their faces. I didn’t blame them; after all, it was certainly a failed daddy-daughter week, for I had to miss Halloween night with my girl. In the spirit of transparency, it really was a sad day for me. Still, under it all, we knew I had to finish the commitment I had made.

There I was sitting at my computer preparing for the interview ahead. Eyes focused on the screen, I didn’t even know what time it was. Then a feeling hit me, “Get up! Grab your camera and go outside, NOW!”

Twenty feet from my front door I heard laughter on the horizon. I walked to the corner to scope where it was coming from. It was Aaron, the cool young man I interviewed a few weeks earlier as he walked with his girlfriend Tatiana. We exchanged casual talk and Tatiana said, “I’ve been hoping to run into you, your project is really cool.” I instantly knew she was the reason I’d been pulled from my desk. She was, without hesitation, ready to be part of Sidewalk Ghosts.

Big deal you may say, you ran into an introduction. But I preferred to look at is this way, It was meant to be. When I began this project, it was just an idea. However, at fifty-two days in, and forgive me if I sound a bit spiritual or metaphysical, it had become a calling. There had been too many encounters that connected in some way or another. Either by message or by situation, things like: People who linked to my family, friend related to other friends, or very personal and unspoken questions being answered by a person who without any knowledge of who I was, shined a light upon me. In less than three months I could clearly see stories weave together in telling a tale of hope, strength, and humanity. Every week propelled in an uncharted journey to a deeper unity with the world as a readership grew beyond my expectations. I had no idea where I was going, but I was down for the ride.

So on that stressed-out Sunday, I welcomed the opportunity to interview Tatiana, even if she was standing directly next to a past stranger-now-friend. To me, she was still a stranger, and our meeting was not by chance.

I jumped right in, “What words of council do you want to share with my readers?”

She was very thoughtful. “I want to be careful with what I say,” she prefaced, “this answer seems so obvious, but it needs to be understood. Everyone says it, but I look at it in a different way. People say, ‘live every day like it is your last.’  True, we need to enjoy life. It’s more than that though. It’s really not about partying or having a good time. It’s greater than that. What if today really is your last day? Are you ready? You’re gonna be judged.”

Tatiana wore her faith on her arm. A Tattoo, that written in Hebrew read, What Would Jesus Do?

_L2R3632Tatiana made the above statement, with no malice, no guile, and void of any judgmental hypocrisy. Her tone was youthful, laughing, and kind, yet there was a knowing peace that radiated through her posture. And by her countenance, I could tell she lived by her words. Tatiana was not dressed in religious uniform or overly conservative. Just a young lady; quite normal, quite charming, and quite inspiring as she did her best to simply be a good person. Not just to herself, but to others as well.

She expanded her council, “Have fun but don’t live recklessly, for yourself or others. Focus on doing good, because what if it is your time and you’re not living up to your potential or doing bad things. You don’t want to go out that way. You want to be remembered for what good you did. Make your mom, dad, and people proud.”

Her dreams were pure and noble, go to culinary school, marry, have a family, and open a catering company.

Tatiana had inspired me. Left me healed of my morning stress, as once again, I accepted the notion that I was being led by something above my overly intellectual and very imperfect self. A statement I share in humility and openhearted exposure of my life. I throw it your way by no means of arm twisting or grandstanding. A premise that is up to you to accept, or reject, regarding the reason I was snapped away from my desk at the exact moment she passed by my home. For me, it was real, and my gut tells me I was meant to interview Tatiana that day.

Sunday, a day of spiritual renewal and worship for many, and because of that, perhaps there was hidden meaning in why I was driven to write this entry.

All I can say is this, Tatiana was on the right path and it was refreshing to meet a young woman with her perspective toward living and faith. Again, and fully,I was, and am, inspired.

Tatiana, may all your dreams come true.

“It’s Totally Rad”

by

From the archives of Project 365

...more than an emerging artisan; she was a community activist.

It was a Saturday afternoon. Fifty-one days since my commitment to interview a stranger and publish a story for 365 consecutive days. Lucky that my family had been patient toward a project that was still in its infancy as they sacrificed their time with me. A goal that at almost three months into the commitment had created quite a few conflicts regarding our daily living; yet throughout all, they remained so very supportive. Even threw me out of the house on days I wanted to give up, and it was only the beginning of Sidewalk Ghosts. Seems surreal when I reflect back to the fact that I am now almost nine years into the project.

With this admission, I also have to note, that from time-to-time, and in fairness to finding family time, there were days I summarized my writings. For that reason, and keeping as true as I can in revising these essays, I’ll simply bullet-point how I meet a stranger-now-friend, Myly.

7:00 am – Alarm sounded.
7:01 am – Hit ten-minute snooze (or so I thought).
8:15 am – Awoke and hour of schedule.
8:30 am – Sprinted out the front door with family.
8:32 am – Embarked on a drive to teach spinning.
8:55 am – Arrived at the gym (class starting at 9:00 am).
9:00 am – Class grimaced at the sight of me dressed as Little Miss Muffet (it was Halloween).
9:05 am – Realized the ladies dug a man in a tutu and that men were inspired by my courage.
9:10 am – Kicked into high gear for one hour of pedaling euphoria.
10:00 am – Class ended. Hung out in front of the gym waiting for wife and daughter to pick me up.
10:30 am – Approached cool deaf dude. He rejected me and left the area.
10:30 to 11:30 am – Licked my wounds as I chatted with gym friends.
11:50 am – Family grabbed me and we drove to Farmers’ market.
12:30 pm – Met Myly.

 

Part artistic dreamer, part entrepreneur, and master of community outreach, Myly was full of energy. For an hour we spoke of the past and future of the Canoga Park art and culture scene. There was no loss of enthusiasm in her council to all, “Don’t settle. Find what you are passionate about and go for it!” A thought that I’m sure we have all entertained.

Myly lived what she preached as she referenced her recent layoff of employment, “I was freaked at first, but then I realized it was a gift.”

She had not looked back.

“As a child, I always collected things” and as she described them, it was easy to see they were not just things, but treasures to her. Objects of all sorts, each one special part of a collection she reused to feed her artistic self. By her reveal, “I’ve never thought of myself as an artist, but more of a business person.”

We talked of her childhood and her remembrance of, at a very young age, selling necklaces that she made from other people’s discards. Telling me, “I never dreamed that I would one day be supporting myself with the stuff I make. It’s totally rad.”

But Myly was more than an emerging artisan; she was a community activist. In such, she was part of organizing an art walk; and as we hit this conversation point, the topic turned away from herself and toward the local businesses. “Before we started the Art Walk there were many vacant buildings on Sherman Way” (the street that hosted the art walk), “but the event is reshaping the visibility of the area and now many of the empty spaces are slowly filling with new businesses: several thrift shops, art galleries, restaurants, boutiques, and performance venues. We are only just starting the outreach and the community is responding to it.”

Quickly a job title came to my mind, “Myly,” I said, “I title you, Leader of the Community Brigade.” She smiled and expanded on the title. “My goal is to turn this farmers’ market into an artistic destination.”

I asked Myly of her dreams?

“One day I want to have a storefront loft space. Upstairs will by my place to dwell. Downstairs will be for you, with a gallery, shopping, coffee/tea bar, and cool place to hang out at night.”

Prologue
Now nine years since the day I met Myly, Vintage Grime is no more and I have lost track of her whereabouts. Another testament to the fragility of the artistic livelihood; and a reminder to us all, that behind every artistic work (and I’m not referring to mass-produced products and decorations), is a valued creator. A person who most likely is risking much to stay true to a very personal vision or higher purpose and Myly was one such individual.

But there is no want of remorse or regret, for in her words, and in upholding her honorary title, Leader of the Community Brigade, she has left her legacy. For on the third Thursday of every month, on the very streets where we met, hundreds gather in appreciating and forwarding art and culture. Now in its eighth year, The Canoga Park Artwalk is alive and thriving.

She smiled and expanded on the title. “My goal is to turn this farmers’ market into an artistic destination.”

Myly. You have truly given much.

“Know The Sins / Do The Opposite”

by

From the archives of Project 365

“Be nice to strangers, and do your part to make the world a better place.”

From left to right: Shane, Saya, and Kevin

Not far down the road from where I live is a yearly tradition. A family fun destination, that, as fast as it is set up, it disappears. A brightly lit and musically backed event which, appearing in a local parking lot, draws families and individuals of all perspectives and histories to its surface. A frozen mixing pot that, for a few dollars, puts people of all shapes and sizes shoulder to shoulder for smiles and laughter. Year after year, I’d driven past it, always saying to myself, one day I’d take my family ice skating, California style.

On October 29, 2011, I found myself driving by the rink. As I passed, and in its proven tone, the voice inside me sounded its alarm, “Stop there, now!” I’d learned to trust its strangely subtle call. A diving rod of sorts, it had directed me to many welcoming and unique individuals; and after fifty days of getting to know it, I had accepted the feeling that wherever it pointed me, I followed.

So it sounded, “Stop there, now!” And I listened. Not knowing why, and not certain if I would interview anyone, I obediently followed. Some nights it pointed me to an accepting interview, others on a path of rejection. Yet, every time I humbled myself to it, it ultimately led me to meet a compelling person. So on that night, I was as uncertain as always as to the course I was about to embark on. The question always in the back of my mind, “Is this tonight’s starting point or an endpoint?”

I admit I felt horribly selfish making my first visit to the ice skating rink without my family. But I had to trust the prompting. Hence, without question, without self-justification, without thought of location or timing, I just went.

Entering the complex and to the cashier, I asked, “How much to skate?” I was directed to a sign: $15 for adults, $12 for children.

The place was busy, and leaning on the rules of interview etiquette that I had formed, I readied myself to move on. Thinking it would have been inconsiderate to interrupt these kids at work. I turned away from the counter and set stride to depart, but the alarm sounded louder. “You must invite them!”

I was glad I listened.

Throughout this project, I have been led to some of the greatest youth. From kids that scared me at first to kids who were at the top of their game. Most impressive was that the majority had shared words beyond their years, each leaving me with this distinct impression; the future is in good hands.

And on that night in October 2011, a temporary winter wonderland had put me in contact with three more of a select generation, Shane, Saya, and Kevin. Each one a great young adult, each with wise perspectives, each with hope for what’s to come, and each with well-grounded maturity in what they claimed.

We spent about an hour talking: A little bit of sharing as a group and some one-on-one Q&A. Here is a compilation of their wisdom:

“Be nice to strangers, and do your part to make the world a better place.”
“Learn about the deadliest sins and do the opposite.”
“Be courteous to others, its common sense.”
“People can be selfish, so learn to share.”
“Say thank you.”
“Be the first to open doors for others.”
“Take care of the environment.”
“Be spontaneous.”
“Don’t overthink, things always work out.”
“Take risk, follow dreams, no regrets.”
“There is a lesson in all we do, good experience and bad experience, it’s all about a positive perspective.”
“Stay open to new things.”
“Don’t live with what-ifs, there is always a way back.”
“There is a positive answer to every situation, don’t allow yourself to get trapped in the negative.”

I had again been put in the right place, at the right time, and with the right people. Brought to a destination where I could rub shoulders with the future as I met a trio of passionate future leaders. Three young adults who individually and combined gave us a most precious set of wisdom.

What I choose to not publish are a few very personal life issues they shared. Events I assure you had gained them their bragging rights. So in honor of their privacy, and after spending time with them, I assure you they had earned the right to be respected; and I consider it part of my job to not exploit their life stories. But, this I will say, they understood where they were going, had accepted what they had been through, knew who they were, and had a good grasp of what was important. How many of us can say the same?

“Are You Guys Communists?”

by

From the archives of Project 365

I’d asked for the fourth time, “Who is playing on the stereo?” He said, “If you ask me again, I’m going to punch you!”

Sitting in the car engrossed in my entry, I had asked my friend Michaelbrent (he was driving) the same questing four times in ten minutes. Some people can be too touchy, can’t they? But I loved the guy. Or was it that he might have been a little hungry snappy. We decided to stop for dinner to grab a bite.

Ah! Applebees, a great place for a quiet wind-down meal. I was proven wrong.

We parked, walked to the door, and in route, met Victor. The Harmonica playing dude who was sitting on a bench in front of the restaurant. The guy was cool blue. Turned out he was a classically trained musician, held degrees, and was a local contributor to weekly jam sessions held at Applebees.

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For some reason, I’d been running into a lot of past military and/or families of servicemen and women throughout Sidewalk Ghosts. In that, I promise I have not been pre-selecting my destinations or planning on who I interview. I’ve truly been going with the flow and have worked to be as spontaneous and open to a situation as I can, and the night that Victor appeared before us, as in many cases was spontaneous to a feeling that pushed me to reach out to him.

By first impressing, it was easy to profile Victor as homeless, but that was farthest from the truth as I got to know him. Later becoming offended when, as he entered the restaurant, two girls at the front desk, in a very apparent way, showed faces of judgment the moment he walked into the establishment. Killed me to witness.

It was an interesting observation of human behavior as Michaelbrent and I watched the way the two hostesses chose to direct their responses based on Victor’s outward appearance and subdued behavior. A real-time case study played out directly in front of us as we witnessed how the first impression was more influential than actions in this scenario. To that point, as loud tone and foul language were belligerently thrown into the public air from three clean-cut men, who as they screamed obscenities over a TV broadcasted baseball game, went completely uncorrected by the restaurant staff.  Or at the other end of the bar, a group of drunken women throwing their underwear at the tribute singer performing a Guns and Roses hit, Neil Diamond style; again, went totally ignored. Not that I condemned their actions. It was just that, looking around the restaurant, and seeing a few families who had young children, I thought that a little discretion was in order for that particular venue.

So why did Victor come in? Simply: To get a cold glass of Coca Cola and to watch the karaoke night that was happening. Makes you pause to rethink perceptions of society, doesn’t it?

Sure, Victor looked run down, maybe even hard of luck. Homeless. But let me tell you a little more about Victor. He was a Vietnam veteran, a proud husband, and a father with two children: A son studying music and a daughter enrolled in nursing school. Even told us of his giving his son a Les Paul for school and helping his daughter pay tuition.

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Victor was, in no way, transient. He lived within walking distance, paid his fair rent for a two-bedroom home, and carried a legitimate veteran’s card. “I was honorably discharged and I support my family via my military pension and disability,” he explained.

I do have to admit a pet peeve: People who irresponsibly live off the system. There was no way I could put Victor in that category. At the age of sixty-five he spoke of the importance of not taking a handout, an attitude that he ratified as he told of his past, “I had worked up until my disabilities became too unmanageable.”

Open in speaking of his obstacles. Victor did not address any of his issues in a poor me way or use them as a crutch in any form, but with a very matter of fact point-of-view he spoke of his character. “I don’t want any handouts.”

No handouts wanted, he was completely the opposite of what some might have profiled him as. A man who, on a deeper trust, revealed the fact he was recovering from a stroke he recently had. That in itself explained his troubled speaking and slumped walk. It was not alcohol-induced, but conditions brought on by a very serious medical condition that almost took his life. Yes, his teeth were decayed, yet his smile was still grand. The guy was a tank.

We learned of his exposure to Agent Orange, bullet wounds, and shrapnel that was lodged in his side. His continence was lucid and his spirit was kind, inquisitive, and humorous. There was only one thing that concerned him. A question that arose when I asked him to sign a release and one that I think was more joke than serious, “Are you guys, Communists?” I assured him we were not.

Victor left us with these words, “Enjoy music, play it, learn of it, it’s very good for you.”

Victor, we hope you are still jamming!

Sidewalk Ghosts / The Chance Of A More Perfect World

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Hello, dear readers of Sidewalk Ghosts, random curiosity seekers, and people who stumbled onto this project while looking for the newest celebrity train wreck (nothing here about the Khardashians, sorry)

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You may notice a bit of a difference in this essay. There’s a reason for that; and the reason is simply this: I’m not Richard.  Instead, you’re going to be treated to (or suffer through) a “guest author.”

My name is Michaelbrent Collings, and when Richard asked if I would help him out and write about it from my point of view, I approached it with a bit of trepidation. I’m a writer, so it’s not the words that scare me. I’ve actually written best-sellers and had screenplays produced in Hollyweird. But most of what I dowrite is either horror (ghost stories and books about serial killers) or light fantasy (kids who discover they are magic users and become embroiled in a battle to save the world). And Sidewalk Ghosts– or as he would probably prefer to say it, the stories of the people whom he chronicles–is neither of those things.

But I agreed to give it a go. Challenges are fun.

And almost immediately upon meeting his friend-now-stranger for the night, I started to regret my decision.

Not because she was awful, or difficult, or whiny. Quite the opposite. It’s because she was simply delightful. When asked if she would like to be a part of the project, she lit up. “Sure!” was her immediate response. And when she walked away after the experience, she literally jumped in the air and (I think) even uttered a “Yippee!”

Her name was (and, I suppose, still is) Janel. Richard and I met her after a long day on the set of a photo shoot he was doing. He and I went to dinner with the client and the ad agency people, and Janel came along as the significant other of one of the folks who was at the dinner.

And it was such a lucky thing that she did.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Some people are defined by what they take in. They are collectors of information, of wisdom, or (in bad situations) of other peoples morale and energy. Then there are those who are defined by what they give out. Janel was one of those people. She smiled. A lot.  She wore her hair differently every single day. She did yoga. She was fascinated by humanity, but (I think) was still struggling to define her own. Not in a bad way, but in a way that highlighted the fact that she was still deciding what kind of person she would be.

And actually, maybe I ama good person to write this blog. Because I do write fairy tales. Tales of magic and fun. Tales where the good guys win, and the evil-doers are punished. And Janel, I think, was someone who was striving to discover the fairy tale within herself.

“Fit, healthy, and happy.” That’s where she saw herself in ten years. Not “in a fancy house,” not “surrounded by expensive things,” not “in this particular job at that particular company.” But “Fit, healthy, and happy.” She was energetic, spritely, and so it came as no surprise that her personal vision for the future was one that focused, not on the place, not on the thing, but on the energy, and on the feeling her existence would exude. “Fit, healthy, and happy.”

“If you had any words, counsel, or advice you would like to share with my readers, what would they be?”

Janel was also something of a contradiction. Again, not a bad thing. Quite the opposite. She had intricate levels that interconnected to create a person of unusual depth and passion. So while she was a person who looked like she could probably run a 10K every day of the week and step it up to a full marathon on the weekends, she could also be quiet, and attentive.  She liked to talk, but didn’t mind listening. She seemed as happy to laugh at another’s story as she was to laugh at her own tales of life and its idiosyncrasies. Again, a rare quality.

So though at times she seemed as though she was wandering through life on a journey to who-knows-where, she was also possessed of a certain inner assurance. “I’ve worked for a three-star general,” she declared. “He taught me how to be competent.”  I agreed with her that competence was a quality rarely found, and much to be admired.  She wore her competence on her sleeve.  If she said she could do it, I had no doubt that it (whatever “it” could be) would be done.

And along with that competence, as though to balance out the happy, energetic, almost childlike quality that captivated those around her, she also had the ability to say something directly, and to have it mean something.

“What counsel would you like to share with the world?” Richard asked her.  And in an eyeblink, she sobered, and without hesitation said, “Quit if you need to.”

Not idle words. How many of us go through the motions, living our “daily grind,” and slowly dying inside all the while because we are too afraid to reach out and find something new – and better?  How many of us find ourselves locked into something–a career, a pastime, a relationship – that isn’t right for us, but just don’t have the personal wherewithal to simply stop?

Not Janel. She told Richard (and me, the horror writer turned anthropologist for a night) of her experience in grad school. Pursuing a career she had dreamed of since she was eight. And then realizing that something about it was wrong. Something about it didn’t feel like it should. What it was that felt off? Simply this: she hated grad school.

So she quit.

The ramifications were enormous. Starting, and perhaps ending, with the fact that she was no longer sure what she was going to do with herself. Not that she didn’t work–she did, and probably did an excellent job at it.  But “it’s not my dream job.” And she isn’t quite sure what it wouldbe.

Which was, it seemed, all right with her. Because better to be a bit unsure of what the future holds that to suffer the certainty of misery. She didn’t like where she was, so she changed it. Obvious, really.

But how many of us could have done the same?

And even in that simple statement that her job wasn’t her “dream job,” laid another implicit facet of Janel’s character. She believed in dreams. She never said that aloud, but it seemed from the twinkle in her eye and the dimples that were so deep you could almost see through her head, that she did believe in the possibility of a better tomorrow­–the chance of a more perfect world.

In the hope, of hope itself.

Good night, Janel. It was a pleasure. And I hope your dreams come true.

Michaelbrent Collings is the bestselling author of RUN, Billy: Messenger of Powers, and numerous other novels.  He can be followed on his Facebook page is at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Michaelbrent-Collings/283851837365. He also has a website at michaelbrentcollings.com.